He sat down in the overstuffed chair and watched Fanquist dress. “You ain’t in such a goddam hurry you can’t wash,” he said, when she started to pull her clothes on.
She took no notice. She adjusted the straps of her hold-up. Roxy looked with raised, eyebrows. “You be careful,” he said. “Some guy’s going to trip over your chest one of these days.”
Fanquist giggled. “The things you say,” she said, doing things to her face.
Roxy switched his mind. “I guess I’ll take a gander at those two,” he said, picking his teeth with a match-end. “Maybe they’ll be interestin’.”
“Watch yourself with the broad,” Fanquist warned him. “I’ll hook her eyes out if she starts on you.”
“Okay,” Roxy waved his hand. “You know me. I ain’t got the strength to take on two dames at once. You watch Dillon.”
She paused at the door. “Say, if these two ain’t dumb, bring ’em along to Verotti’s. They might amuse me.”
Roxy nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “if they are bright I’ll do that.”
Fanquist shut the door behind her and ran downstairs. Roxy picked up the paper again and studied the police news.
Roxy was a heistman. He wasn’t very spectacular, but he made a nice living on the side. He specialized in car hold-ups. Gangdom considered him smart, and they had a certain respect for him. He had kept clear of the cops, he’d never been mugged or finger-printed, and he wasn’t a killer. His stick-ups brought him in on the average a grand a week, and he was doing pretty well for himself.